


the mortifying ordeal of being known

by uneventfulhouses



Series: night so long [3]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series), Watcher Entertainment
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:48:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23210485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uneventfulhouses/pseuds/uneventfulhouses
Summary: They kiss a lot. There’s a lot of that, a lot of nights spent lying on Shane’s couch, just kissing. Shane wants so much more than that, to lift the hem of Ryan’s shirt over his head, to lower the zipper of Ryan’s jeans, let his fingertips skate over naked skin. To somehow press himself underneath Ryan’s flesh, live somewhere within the sinews and veins of Ryan’s makeup.or; there's a hotel room, among other places.
Relationships: Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej
Series: night so long [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1580413
Comments: 40
Kudos: 230





	the mortifying ordeal of being known

**Author's Note:**

> the third and final installment. woo. 
> 
> thanks to mel for the beta. a sweetheart. 
> 
> please enjoy.

They are okay. 

-:-

It’s a slow progression between Shane and Ryan, one Shane expects despite their weekend in Seaside. Work doesn’t change and neither do they. It’s almost peculiar, curious how they are able to separate what they do alone, away from spying eyes, from the way they interact when they’re with friends, with family. 

-:-

They kiss a lot. There’s a lot of that, a lot of nights spent lying on Shane’s couch, just kissing. Shane wants so much more than that, to lift the hem of Ryan’s shirt over his head, to lower the zipper of Ryan’s jeans, let his fingertips skate over naked skin. To somehow press himself underneath Ryan’s flesh, live somewhere within the sinews and veins of Ryan’s makeup.

He wants it, but he doesn’t say so. 

-:-

Even better, they _date_. Date nights where Ryan has to separate himself from work. They go to dinner, movies, drinks and chicken wings at a bar, ice cream cones at the beach. They date each other, and Shane loves it, enjoys every second of it when Ryan looks at him, and his eyes haven't lost their shine. 

-:-

On Friday, they go out for drinks, holding hands underneath the table, sitting pressed against each other. The commotion about the newness of their relationship has softened; they haven’t outright commented on it themselves, but TJ is aware. Devon and Mark know. Curly and Maya have seen them. They aren’t obvious, at least not to Shane, but they don’t necessarily hide it. 

Ryan doesn’t seem to want to, and neither does Shane, and so they don’t. If someone asks, they’ll say. Otherwise, what Ryan and Shane are doing is the business of Ryan and Shane. 

-:-

Shane hasn’t been sleeping well. There’s something caught in his chest, Lichtenberg figures from the lightning strike of nightmares. They’re new, seeping like oil into the ocean of his mind, setting his dreams ablaze with the simple strike of raw fear that Ryan will slip through his fingers.

When Shane wakes in the middle of the night, sometimes Ryan is there, sleeping soundly, tucked against his side or draped along his spine or rolled over onto his side, facing away, where Shane can reach a hand and settle it between his shoulder blades, and concentrate on his breaths. 

That almost always wakes Ryan, startlingly so, and Ryan will turn to him, sleepy, gathering Shane against his chest, combing his fingers through his hair until Shane is lulled back into sleep.

Shane wonders if it’s a fraction of That Night, where Ryan had stayed awake, just watching Shane sleep because he was too afraid to close his eyes. 

There are other nights, bad nights, nights so long when Ryan is away, sleeping in his own bed. Shane doesn’t find sleep then, staring at the wall and wanting to give into calling Ryan, but the guilt of disturbing Ryan’s sleep weighs heavier. Instead, he greets sunlight with gritty eyes, aching bones, and the feeling of being too old for the world.

-:-

“Have you ever done anything with a guy?” Ryan asks. 

Ryan’s voice trails off from where he’s whispered words into Shane’s throat. They’ve calmed, and it’s slower now, just Ryan’s mouth pressing over and over against the hot curve of his neck. Shane grips his fingers in the back of Ryan’s shirt, bunching fabric in his fist. 

“Uh, no.” He’s not even thought about it really, not before Ryan. He could appreciate the male form, but he’s never acted on it. “You?” 

Ryan pulls back and looks down at Shane, his brows knitted together. He shakes his head. 

“Is that—uh.” Shane takes in a deep breath. “That something you want?” 

Ryan’s smile is shy, but when his eyes meet Shane’s, there’s heat there. Ryan nods.

“Yeah?”

Ryan shrugs. “There’s only so many times we can take breaks, right?” he reasons. “And I’m kinda jerkin’ myself raw thinking about you.” 

Shane’s eyebrows fly up. Of course, Shane’s teetering along that same precarious line; Ryan goes home, and Shane can’t get his hand down his pants fast enough. “Jesus, Ryan.” 

Ryan laughs, his face open and vulnerable. He rakes his fingers through Shane’s hair. “Do you want me? Like that?” 

Shane curls his arms around Ryan’s waist, presses his hands up against Ryan’s shoulder blades; Ryan sinks against him. “Of course I _want_ you, Ryan. I am physically attracted to you. As much as I’m in love with you.” 

It’s become easier to say so. To just tell Ryan he’s in love with him. To say _I love you_ before they leave each other, in the middle of the day when Ryan’s refilling his coffee mug, in a text message, _just because_. 

“I don’t—can we just wait? I don’t know if I can yet. Like, I _can_ , but, like.” Ryan dips his head, pressing his forehead against Shane’s. “I don’t think I’m ready for it yet. I think about it, and I want it, I want you, like—really bad. But it’s weird. The thought of being naked and just letting you even look at me like that. I can’t get out of my head about it. Otherwise, we probably would have done it ages ago. Maybe in Seaside, or when we came home. Or last weekend.”

 _Last weekend_ , Shane thinks, when they were lying right here, with Ryan underneath him, gripping his hips. When their kisses turned hot, Shane’s hips wedged between Ryan’s thighs, pressing down against him as Ryan shivered, panting into each other’s mouths, until Ryan had looked away from Shane and whispered, _I think I need a minute._ And when Shane had lifted himself off of Ryan, Ryan had walked away, down the hall and shut himself in Shane’s bathroom. And Shane felt the searing heat of shame, like he’d done something wrong. 

It had taken several moments for Ryan to come out, and when he had, he’d been wide eyed and soft, sitting next to Shane on the couch. 

They’d finished a movie and gone to bed.

“Is that stupid?” Ryan whispers. 

“No.” 

“Are you just saying that?”

“Nope.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Ryan, you have nothing to be sorry for. It can wait. We don’t need to rush into anything. We’ll be fine.” 

Ryan looks up then, at Shane, and sighs. “I love you. A lot, you know.” 

“I do know.”

“And I know you love me a lot.” 

“Them’s the facts, baby.” 

“Don’t call me ‘baby’.” 

Shane smiles. “Okay, sweetheart.” 

A lovely flush stains Ryan’s cheeks and Shane watches the way his eyes dip, and then rise to meet Shane’s gaze. “We needed to talk about it, though. Because we’ve never talked about it. Seaside was—we didn’t really do...the things I want to.” 

“What kind of things?” 

Ryan bites down on his lip, and leans in, lips to Shane’s ear. Ryan touches his hand to the side of Shane’s neck. “Wanna get my hands on you,” Ryan whispers. 

Shane shudders underneath Ryan, sucking in a shallow breath. 

“And...and I wanna get my mouth on you.” 

“Ryan—” 

“When I’m by myself, that’s what I think about, you know. I just—I think about touching you. And making you—” Ryan breathes in sharp, and Shane hangs onto that single breath, like Ryan’s shared it with him. “Making you come.” Ryan presses a kiss to Shane’s neck. He feels flushed, hot, like his body is a string tugged taut, like any sudden movement could make him snap. 

And then Ryan is sitting up, nestled between Shane’s thighs, looking down at Shane. They watch each other for a moment, before Ryan is covering his face with his hands.

“Sorry.” 

“ _Why_ are you sorry?” Shane asks, raking his fingers through his hair, like he’ll find an off button for the raucous beat of his heart. 

“Because I want you and I’m not sure how to reconcile that with the person I was a few months ago, when it was this latent attraction and we didn’t—we didn’t _do_ this.” 

Shane purses his lips. 

“Because I just want to drag you to bed, but at the same time, I’m nervous? I’m fuckin’—” Ryan sighs. “—I’m scared to, you know, _do it_.” 

“Eh. I mean, I am quite strange. And off-putting.” 

Despite the weight of Ryan’s confession, he manages to grin, big and bright, like he isn’t scared of anything. Ryan crawls back up Shane’s body, laying heavy, resting his forehead on Shane’s chest. 

“I’m a mess, Shane. I’m a mess. How are you—how can you like me at all, when I can’t even—I don’t know.” 

Shane runs his fingers through Ryan’s hair, gentle fingers at the nape of Ryan’s neck. 

“We don’t have to jump right into the big stuff, you know,” Shane says quietly. “We can—we can start slow.” 

Shane can feel Ryan nodding. 

“Do you want to go to bed?” 

Ryan nods again. 

-:-

They have lunch together at work the next day, and Ryan goes home and Shane goes home when the workday is over. 

The same thing happens the day after. 

-:-

Loving Ryan, as it turns out, isn't always late afternoon sunshine and sunflower metaphors. Sometimes it’s hurricane gale force winds, cutting words, not talking to each other for hours until they've cooled down. Sometimes, Shane finds, as easy as it is to love Ryan, it doesn't always feel like it is. 

With Ryan’s anxiety and his ever present need to be liked, sometimes, with Shane’s own lows, he isn't able to cater to Ryan, and it carves lines in the sand between them. And that’s them, they have things to work out, because it isn't a seamless transition from friends to lovers. It isn't always effortless, but God, they're trying. 

-:-

It’s a Saturday night. Ryan looks at him with pretty eyes and coaxes him out of the apartment for drinks with friends. 

Ryan is handsome, _hot_ , in his tight jeans and even tighter tee. They don’t make it out of the apartment for a while; Shane pins Ryan against the wall and Ryan’s fingers hook into the belt loops of his Chinos, keeping him close. 

“You sure you don’t want to stay in?” Shane says against the wild beat of Ryan’s pulse, listening to the way his breath hitches just slightly when Shane tucks his fingers against the cut of his hip. 

“Everyone’s waiting. We can continue this when we come back,” Ryan whispers, his voice unsteady, shaky, fingers bunching in the front of Shane’s flannel. “Come here, though.”

Shane laughs against his jaw, his cheek, kissing Ryan’s lips as Ryan drags him down. 

-:-

At the bar, they start fast, shot after shot after shot, finding themselves far away from tipsy, toeing the line of drunk in absolutely no time.

The alcohol does nothing to lift him; it winds around his wrists and pulls him to the bottom of the ocean, deep beneath the surface to where the darkest parts of his consciousness cultivate the fear that keeps him awake at night. 

Ryan’s always been a social person. He bounces between conversations, even as glassy eyed and drunk as he is, leaning into whomever he’s sitting next to. Shane’s always loved that about him, how his heart always seems to grow three sizes too big whenever he’s around the right people.

It’s too much to witness, too much to watch. He needs air. 

Shane stumbles out of the bar, catching himself against the wall, where he presses both hands against the painted brick, trying to right his dizzying mind. He inhales and exhales, but it doesn’t do anything to dispel the horrifying fear that he might not be _enough_. He’s slipping, climbing steadily down a ladder to settle beside and in between his most intrusive thoughts. Of course he loves Ryan. But standing here, drunk on the sidewalk, with the stench of cigarette smoke in the air, Shane wonders, maybe for the first time if that’s enough.

Warm hands find his waist and Shane flinches away. 

“It’s just me, Shane,” comes Ryan’s voice from behind him; Shane feels Ryan crowd behind him, pressing in close. Ryan’s hands rest on his stomach. 

“I need a second,” Shane mutters, pulling away from Ryan’s grasp. 

Shouldn’t he want to step closer, as close as possible? _Sinews and veins._

Turning around, he faces Ryan. And then he slides to sit against the brick wall. 

Ryan’s arms are crossed over his chest, not defensive, but like he’s _holding_ himself together. His eyes are wide, regarding Shane with questions shifting in his irises. 

“What are we doing, Ryan? What are we doing?”

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean this—us.” 

“Us?” 

Shane sighs. Ryan kneels in front of him, reaching for him. His fingers run through Shane’s hair, pressing against his cheeks. “Shane, what are you talking about?” 

“I don’t know. I’m just constantly afraid of losing you. And that’s so stupid, you’re right here. You’re right here all the time, but I can’t—like I can’t believe it sometimes.” 

Ryan’s eyes are sad when Shane looks up. “Why?” 

Dropping his gaze, Shane doesn’t answer, because how can he? He doesn’t know why, except it seeps into his sleep, and he hasn’t slept in a long time, and he feels like Ryan is slipping through his grip, however tight he holds on. 

“I’m having nightmares,” he says, and he’s much too drunk for this conversation, he’s much too drunk for anything than to fall into Ryan, and just hold his arms around him. He’s much too drunk for that, too. 

“Nightmares? About what?” 

“Losing you.” And right then, Shane lifts his head, looks up at Ryan’s brightly lit inquisitive eyes and licks his lips. “I just don’t—I don’t know if you’re serious like I’m serious. I don’t know if one day you’re going to wake up and look at me and think maybe you don’t love me.”

It’s easier to relieve the pressure when alcohol coils around his blood cells, when it fogs his brain and he forgets to hide behind carefully forged walls. It’s easy to ignore the pained look on Ryan’s face and tear through his frayed emotions as he pours himself out like a tipped over glass of water. 

“Am I enough?” Shane whispers.

“Why don’t we get you home, hmm?” Ryan says, and Shane doesn’t miss the way tears gather on the brims of Ryan’s eyes as he tugs Shane standing. 

“Are you going to stay over with me?” 

“Yup.” 

“Can you stay tomorrow night, too?” Shane murmurs. “And Monday and Tuesday.” 

“What about Wednesday?” Ryan asks, the tone of his voice playful despite the way it shakes.

“All the days. I want you all the days.” 

“Okay, baby.”

“How come you can call me ‘baby’ and I can’t call you ‘baby’?” 

Ryan laughs, and he’s being ushered into the back seat of a car and everything feels okay, but he knows as soon as his eyes drift closed, it’ll start again. Ryan’s hand is warm, but it trembles, even when Shane grasps a little tighter.

-:-

In the morning, Shane’s hungover and silent. No dreams plagued his sleep, but he hadn’t been so inebriated that he’d forgotten what he’d said, how easily he’d accused. 

Ryan is quiet, sipping coffee in the kitchen. He’s wearing Shane’s clothes, a habit Shane loves, if only because he likes the thought of it, likes the sight of it, likes how it feels very much so that Ryan is his. They’re a little crooked, them. This. Their relationship has no defined edges or direction, not unless they make it so. Right now, it feels as though they’re in a limbo, in a purgatory of sorts, where the edges of who they are shift like clouds of smoke.

Shane says, “Good morning.” 

And Ryan says nothing, glancing at Shane over the rim of his mug, eyes tired and sad, and it’s because of Shane. 

Instead of prodding at a situation Shane knows has the power to explode, Shane doesn’t say anything else, just makes himself his own cup of coffee, taking it with him to the bedroom, where he’ll let it cool as he showers. 

When he comes out of the bathroom, Ryan breezes past him, closing the door behind him. 

And that’s a first, a first in a while. The door is always cracked. 

Ryan must be brave in his anger. 

-:-

Shane’s working steadily, filtering through words without really understanding them. He switches pace, looking through the film he’d shot for a different series. Nothing is clicking, though, he feels off kilter, and it’s his own fault. 

Yesterday had been weird. They’d been quiet, and even though Ryan could have left, could have gone home, he hadn’t. He’d just stayed—quiet, aloof—and Shane felt a little lost by it. Sure, they’d fought before, numerous times, over the stupidest things even, but it hadn’t been like this, stifling, overbearingly quiet between them. Ryan didn’t like to sit in the quiet, always filled it with chatter, with _something_. 

In reality, Shane knew it would have done him some good to apologize, but instead, he’d sat on the opposite side of the couch, watching the television through blind eyes, sinking further in his thoughts. He should have reached out, should have apologized, should have said something. 

Even then, even in the quiet, when it had come time to go to bed, Shane slipped underneath cool sheets, and Ryan followed, warm body pressed right up against Shane’s side. He could have gone home, he could have, but he’d stayed, and even in the silence, Shane struggled to hear Ryan.

A hand reaches over his shoulder, hitting the spacebar on his keyboard, effectively pausing the video on his screen. When Shane looks up, he finds Ryan, looking down at him with a soft smile. He gently sets some papers down on Shane’s keyboard. 

Ryan says, “I’m serious about you. About me _and_ you. Sign these, please.” He presses his hand on Shane’s shoulder, an action he’s made numerous times, but Shane can’t quite remember Ryan’s touch burning so hot.

Shane looks down at the neatly stapled document at the edge of the desk. 

_Consensual Relationship Agreement_

Shane doesn’t read the document, but he notices, on the third page, Ryan’s already printed and signed his name. 

There’s a rough burn in his throat and his eyes blur. Through shoddy vision, he signs the document, dates it, and leaves it on his desk. He stands from his seat and walks towards the bullpen of desks, finding Ryan standing, talking to Devon.

“Hey.”

Ryan looks up at him and Shane doesn’t hesitate to move into Ryan’s space, aware he’s rudely interrupting a conversation, but—

Shane touches the palms of his hands to Ryan’s waist and presses a kiss right to the surprised part of his mouth. 

Shane can hear the buzzing chatter of the world around him, whistling and hollering, but all he knows for certain is Ryan, pressing his hands to Shane’s shoulders.

It’s seconds long, a breath of a moment, before Shane pulls away, lays vision to Ryan’s dazzling eyes, the way a smile blossoms slowly. 

“I love you,” Shane says.

“Cool. I love you, too,” Ryan says. “Wanna get lunch?” 

“It’s ten in the morning.” Shane grins. 

“Wanna go make out in a closet then?” 

“We’re at _work_.” 

Ryan rolls his eyes. “I suddenly feel very ill, and it’s imperative you take me home and make me better.” 

“Jesus Christ.” 

They leave anyway. They leave, and they drive back to Shane’s apartment and they kiss and kiss and kiss. 

-:-

The next time they go on location, Ryan is on edge, and he doesn’t seem to be able to let Shane out of his sight. Not that it matters much, because Shane is hyper aware of Ryan, because the memory of the last time still rattles him, sitting like acid, burning holes in his stomach.

It’s an old house, daunting, noisy, drafty. Decidedly unhaunted, although Shane will admit it’s creepy. They manage their usual personalities in front of the camera, walking around with equipment strapped to their chests, flashlights in their hands. 

Ryan doesn’t suggest going anywhere alone, and had he, Shane would have vehemently vetoed that particular suggestion.

They don’t spend the night in the house, but it’s states away from Los Angeles, so they make their way back to a hotel room at around four in the morning, tired, sleepy, keyed up even through exhaustion. It feels normal. It is normal.

-:-

Shane sits on his bed, freshly showered, scrolling idly through his phone as Ryan showers. The door is left open, reminiscent of That Night. 

They haven’t talked about that night in a while. It’s only been a few months. They left it in Seaside, the uncertainties, the questions, only bringing themselves back home. 

Shane hears the shower turn off, and some shuffling in the bathroom; after a collection of moments, Ryan emerges, damp and flushed, his hair messy and stuck to his forehead. He’s wearing a shirt and sleep pants, tossing his towel to the floor. Shane’s heart leaps in his chest, drives a hard beat against his sternum. He sets his phone down when Ryan kneels on the bed, crawling up to Shane, pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

“Hey,” Shane says. “You alright?” 

Ryan sits on Shane’s lap, pressing his hands to Shane’s cheeks and claims Shane in a bruising kiss that makes him dizzy. Ryan catches his bottom lip between his own, and when the kiss deepens, Shane’s hands find Ryan’s hips, pulling him closer, giving into Ryan, letting Ryan lead him where he wants to go. When Ryan pulls back, he’s looking at Shane with light in his eyes, softness in his features. 

“What was that for?” Shane says, smiling at Ryan a little dopily, rubbing his thumb over the soft flesh of Ryan’s waist. 

“Do you maybe wanna make out and see where it goes?” 

Shane quirks an eyebrow. 

Ryan grins. “What?” 

“Nothing,” Shane says.

“You get a funny look on your face when you look at me like that,” Ryan says. 

“Like what?” 

Ryan shrugs. “A little like you’re confused.” 

Shane snorts. “Have you seen you? I am confused. Very confused. Are you lost?” 

Ryan rolls his eyes. “You’re ridiculous.” 

“So I’ve been told,” Shane says, touching his hands to Ryan’s hips, tilting up to catch his mouth. Ryan laughs into the kiss, smiling too much to really kiss at all, so Shane diverts his attention to the strong line of his jaw, the hot flesh of his neck, feeling a little thrill curl around his spine and spill heat into his belly when Ryan hums. 

Ryan’s fingers curl into his hair, keeping him close, fingers grappling over his shoulder as Shane makes work at the dip in Ryan’s throat, sucking a bruise into warm, damp flesh. 

“Shane…”

Shane isn’t very strong, not really, but he manages. There are moments, especially fueled by desire; he winds an arm around Ryan’s waist, holding him close as he shifts and lays Ryan against the bedsheets. 

Ryan huffs a small laugh, and Shane smiles against his mouth. 

“Fuck, I can’t—I like you so much,” Ryan says, between kisses. Shane feels his heart stutter and restart, feeling his body flush from it. “It’s stupid how much, you don’t even know.” 

Shane has a feeling he does. An understanding of Ryan’s feelings if only because they reflect his own. 

They kiss softly, finding intensity and desperation as they continue. Ryan runs his fingers through Shane’s hair, and Shane holds himself up on a forearm just so he has a free hand to touch Ryan’s face. They ease into newnesses, where Shane familiarizes and acquaints his hands with the lines and slopes and planes that make up Ryan’s body. It’s heady, dizzying, the way Ryan becomes pliant underneath him. 

There’s the distant memory of the ocean, the salty scent of seawater; when Shane kisses along the line of Ryan’s throat, he can taste the sunlight, and this time, when Shane presses his hips forward, he looks down at Ryan, whispering, “Is this okay?” against the open part of Ryan’s lips. And Ryan nods, fingers underneath Shane’s t-shirt, pressing hot into the spaces between his ribs. 

-:-

A few nights later, he’s home, and Shane wakes up, sweaty, out of breath, and when he reaches out for Ryan, Ryan isn’t in his bed. The realization that he’s at his own home comes quickly, but it does nothing to staunch his bleeding fear. He’d thought nights like these had passed. He wasn’t sure why he’d thought so, but it had been long enough that sleep came easier and worry didn’t strangle him. As it happens, he can’t catch his breath. 

In the back of his head, there’s a voice that tells him he should deal with it on his own. Shane a year ago would have. 

The line trills and trills until Ryan’s voice resonates, tinny through his cell. 

“Shane?” He sounds wide awake, and when Shane glances at his screen to check the time again, it does indeed tell him it’s just after two. “Shane?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Are you okay?” 

“Who’s to say,” Shane says, a feeble attempt at a joke, but he can hear Ryan’s sigh. 

“Do you want to tell me about it?” 

It’s different. It’s always different. And this time they’d been running. Running so fast his lungs still ache from breathing so hard. He doesn’t know what they’d been running from, but the panicked look on Ryan’s face struck him hard, like a blow to his solar plexus. In his dream, Ryan had fallen, and Shane tried to yank him up because they had to keep going, they had to _keep going_ , but Ryan lets his hand go and disappears, and Shane’s left alone, shouting for him. 

“What are you doing awake?” Shane says instead, slithering further underneath his blankets. 

“Reading. I couldn’t sleep.” 

“It’s after two.” 

“Yeah, and?” Ryan says with a laugh. 

“Think I could help you sleep if you came over?” 

“Smooth.” 

“I was just asking.” 

“Do you want me to come over?” 

“No, why in God’s name would I want my—” Shane stumbles. Stumbles because there’s a word there he’s never used and it feels a little foreign in his mouth, but it’s the only word he can think of to describe what Ryan is to him. “—boyfriend to come over and sleep with me?” 

“Boyfriend?” Ryan says slowly.

“Right?” Shane says, unsure.

“We’re really bad at this.” Ryan laughs. “First, we can’t admit we love each other, and then when we finally do, I’m constantly panicking about sex. Meanwhile, you haven’t slept in about sixty years, and now, I’m getting third-grade crush-type butterflies because you’re calling me your boyfriend over the phone.”

“Yes,” Shane says, smiling wide. “A very mature, adult relationship.” 

Ryan bursts out laughing, and the ache in Shane’s chest eases. “I’ll be there soon.”

Shane’s in the kitchen nursing a glass of water when he hears keys at his door. When Shane greets him, Ryan looks tired, wearing pajamas and his glasses and his hair is a wreck. Ryan drops his bag to the floor, and Shane wraps his arms around him, and Ryan leans into him and. 

It’s not healthy. This isn’t healthy. Shane knows that, can feel it, is absolutely certain if he sat with a trained professional, they’d tell him it’s something that needs adjustment. But for right now, he lets himself have it, have Ryan, who doesn’t seem to mind. 

It’s not healthy, but it is what it is. 

Eventually, they untangle, enough so Shane can’t get the door closed and locked.

“You know,” Shane says, as he leads Ryan to the bedroom. “You should bring all your stuff here.” 

The lights are still off, so Shane turns on the bedside lamp on his side of the bed. Ryan looks at him from the other side.

“All my stuff?” Ryan sets his glasses on the nightstand. 

“Yeah. Like your jerseys and your sneakers and your Paddington. You can leave your bed though, because I already have one. But like, your books, and, like, your Xbox and your DVDs and. Just your stuff.” Shane shrugs. Ryan rounds the end of the bed, walking over to him. Standing in front of him, Ryan reaches out his hand to touch the hem of Shane’s shirt and tug on it. He looks up at Shane with soft eyes, confused. 

“What are you saying?” 

Shane huffs a breath. “I’m _saying_ that this weekend I’m gonna clean out my closet and make room for your clothes. If you want.”

“Shane…” 

“I told you I wanted you all the days. I meant that. Drunk or not, I mean that.” 

“You want me to live here?” Ryan says slowly. Like it’s an incredulous thought. 

“Yeah. Yes. If you want to, of course. I’m—you’re here a lot and we sleep better when we’re together, and you already have a key—”

“Okay.” 

“Okay?” 

“Yes.” 

“Okay.”

“Should we,” Ryan says, huffing a wheezy laugh. “Should we, like, fuck about this?”

“Absolutely, we should.” Shane grins.

Ryan rocks onto the tips of his toes just to kiss Shane once before dragging Shane into their bed, where Shane uses his hands to untangle Ryan from his insecurities, untether himself from his own fears. 

“I want to, like, properly touch you,” Ryan says, kneeling beside him. “Can I?” 

“You can do whatever you want to me.” 

Ryan makes a soft noise, and there’s darkness in Ryan’s eyes when Shane looks at him. 

“Okay, uh, take your shirt off and lay back.” 

Shane does as he’s told, lying against the pillows, hands lax at his sides. Ryan inhales and hooks his fingers into the waistband of Shane’s sweatpants and drags them down. Shane can hear Ryan’s breath hitch, can see him looking down at all the flesh that’s newly exposed. He pulls them all the way off, dropping them over the side of the bed. 

Ryan shuffles and sits atop his thighs, pressing his fingers against Shane’s chest, thumbing over his nipples. Shane sucks in a breath, flexing his fingers, just allowing Ryan to get his bearings. He drags his fingers down Shane’s body, over his stomach, leaning in, pressing his mouth against Shane’s jaw, then the underside. Shane shivers underneath the soft, hot press of Ryan’s mouth, reaching to touch Ryan’s shoulders as Ryan’s fingers dip even lower.

Ryan’s taking his time, and Shane is letting him, and he might go crazy from it, from the anticipation of being touched. Ryan keeps kissing Shane, and Shane stares at the ceiling, groaning low when Ryan drags a solitary finger over the length of him. He doesn’t mean to, but his hips shift up in a silent beg. 

When Ryan’s fingers curl around him, Shane’s breath sticks thick in the back of his throat. Ryan squeezes and shifts his grip, stroking slowly down the length of him. Shane wraps his fingers against the back of Ryan’s neck, keeping him close. 

“Is it okay?” Ryan whispers, and Shane nods. 

“Yeah, ‘s good.” 

Ryan pulls his hand back, and Shane watches as he licks a wet stripe across his palm; a thrill of arousal makes his back arch. Ryan gets a hand on him again, stroking slowly. Shane’s eyes fall closed, rolling his hips up into Ryan’s hold. 

“You look—” 

Shane’s eyes open and meet Ryan’s. Eyes dark like coffee, heavy-lidded from lust; Ryan’s cheeks are flushed, and his lips are parted, wet, like he’s been running his tongue over them. 

“Ryan, _Ryan_ ,” Shane murmurs, and Ryan leans in to kiss him, but it’s just a press of their lips, breathing each other in. Shane can’t help but touch Ryan, over his chest, his stomach, gripping his hips. 

“Couldn’t have imagined you like this,” Ryan murmurs. 

When Shane comes, he’s gasping for breath, grasping at Ryan’s shoulders, scraping his nails down Ryan’s back. 

“Oh, _Shane_ ,” Ryan whispers, and when Shane looks up, Ryan’s looking down at him with awe, stroking his fingers slowly, until Shane whimpers, pushing Ryan’s hand away. “You look wrecked.” 

Shane’s barely got his breath back, when he watches Ryan dip his hands into his pants, stroking himself, leaning over Shane. 

“Hey, wait, wait,” Shane says, laughing, and Ryan’s breath hitches, but he pulls his hand away. 

“I don’t—you don’t even— _God,_ Shane.” 

“How is it I’m the one who’s come, but you’re the one with orgasm brain?” Shane says. 

Ryan laughs against his lips, pressing their mouths together in a bruising kiss, deep and intense from the jump with the way Ryan is basically trying to fuck his mouth with his tongue. 

Shane gets his hands on Ryan’s hips, tugging his pants down, and Ryan breaks the kiss to undress, flinging off his shirt. Naked, Ryan’s a marvel, the eighth wonder, gorgeous sitting on top of him. Shane takes his time looking; Ryan’s skin is flushed, a little sweaty and Shane wants to lay him out and press his fingers over every line he can find. 

“Touch me, Shane, please, I’m going nuts here.” 

So, he does, his palms against Ryan’s chest, dragging fingertips down his body, feeling the way Ryan’s muscles flex underneath his touch. He sets his left hand on Ryan’s thigh and curls the other around the length of him, and tugs him off; Ryan wilts against him, panting against his mouth. 

“God, yes, yes, yes,” Ryan chants, shifting his hips to fuck into the hold of Shane’s grip. Shane revels in it, the way Ryan looks, how open and vulnerable he is, how Ryan’s hand grip Shane’s shoulder so hard, it aches. There’s something fragile about this moment, where he looks at Ryan and Ryan stares back at him, eyes so focused; Shane feels visible, a little like he’s been _found._

“Shane, Shane, _Shane_ ,” Ryan whispers so desperately as he comes over Shane’s belly, over all that’s already cooled against his skin. He’s trembling, groaning, and Shane’s going cross-eyed just to keep looking at the ever changing expressions on Ryan’s face. 

And then Ryan collapses, heavy against Shane’s chest, and it’s gross, sticky, but Shane doesn’t care, and it seems neither does Ryan. 

“Holy shit.” 

Shane laughs as Ryan kisses all over his face, pressing their foreheads together. “Good?” Shane asks.

“Don’t go flattering yourself,” Ryan mumbles. He rolls off of Shane’s body, lying next to him, staring up at the ceiling. “God.” 

“That was something.” 

“Yeah. I’m—Shane?” Ryan leans up on his elbow, looking down at him. He’s sweaty and glistening and tired-eyed and flushed and Shane’s never been more in love. 

“Yeah, baby?” 

“Thanks.” 

“For what?” 

“For being patient. For being you.” 

“C’mere,” Shane whispers, overcome with gross feelings and emotions, too much to contain in the cavity of his chest. He pulls Ryan close, fingers against his waist, and Shane’s lips catch against the corner of Ryan’s mouth. 

Ryan hums. “We need to clean up, because I’m going to drop dead in about five seconds.” 

Laughing, Shane gets up out of bed, and Ryan follows after him. 

“And quit calling me baby.” Ryan says with a pointed smack on Shane’s ass. Shane turns around and grabs Ryan by the waist, and just kisses him. Because he wants to, because he can, because, _finally_ , it feels like the storm has passed.

-:-

They are okay.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading <3\. [say hi!](https://uneventfulhouses.tumblr.com/)


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